


Daybreak

by karuvapatta



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-09 09:18:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10408914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karuvapatta/pseuds/karuvapatta
Summary: Damen never minded that there was something odd about Laurent. Until now. Because now somebody's trying to kill him for it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Diana](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thorduna/pseuds/thorduna) for the beta! ♥

His last memory is of the party, and it’s a hazy one. People’s faces and colourful lights blur together, meaningless images flashing before his eyes. He remembers a drink someone put in his hand, after many other drinks, he remembers the body pressed to his own, blue eyes and yellow hair, a smile—after that, nothing.

As of now he becomes aware of his stiffened muscles, and concludes that it’s been hours since he has been dumped on the floor. It’s hard beneath him, smooth, almost metallic. He props himself up and takes in his surroundings.

“Lie still,” Laurent says, cool fingers brushing the hair from his forehead. His smile comes into focus – hesitant, as only Laurent’s can be. As if happiness is an emotion he hasn’t quite figured out yet.

“I’ve been roofied,” Damen says. The cold touch helps abate his headache. 

“It would appear so.”

“And you--?” A nod. “I didn’t know you could do that to—someone like you.”

“There are ways.”

He still isn’t sure what Laurent is. Many times he came close to breaching the subject, but Laurent was unwilling to discuss it. His true nature, like his past, is something he would rather keep from Damen.

And it was fine. It  _ is _ fine. But this – their situation – isn’t.

Laurent’s hair is washed out in the moonlight, his skin even more unnaturally pale. Above him Damen can see the wide stretch of the night’s sky, peppered with stars. Wherever they are, it must be rather secluded if the glow of the city isn’t obscuring them from view. 

The crowns of the trees, such as can be seen, sway gently in the breeze. But Damen cannot feel it on his skin. 

“This is quite romantic,” Damen says, running his hands over Laurent’s cheek. He is elated that even the simplest caress can make Laurent fluster, betraying youth and inexperience that he consistently tries to mask with cool indifference. And he wants to feel this, the solidity of Laurent’s skin, the warmth in his eyes.

“The sun will rise in about an hour,” Laurent remarks. 

“How do you know?”

“I do.”

“And we are in a cage made of glass,” Damen says. 

The structure is octagonal in shape and a few feet in diameter, with the metal floor and solid framework holding up panes of thick, perfectly translucent glass. The roof is pyramid-shaped, giving it the appearance of a small greenhouse. One wall is taken up by the entrance: a metal doorway with no visible means of opening.

Damen hefts himself onto his feet, swaying only a little. The glass, with his palms pressed flat against it, feels anything but brittle. Still he gives it a few punches and, when that has no effect, a roundhouse kick.

“It was built to withstand more than you,” Laurent says.

“I know,” Damen says. 

Careful examination leads him to another discovery: long marks in the inner surface of the glass in the westernmost part of the cage. Claws, he’d say. Something—someone—was running away.

Whoever did the cleaning here missed a few specks of dust, ground into the floor.

“Is that what you are?” he asks, keeping his tone conversational. “A vampire?”

“Something like that,” Laurent says, avoiding a straight answer as per usual. Then, after a beat: “You are very calm about this.”

“I’m waiting to decide who I should be angry at,” Damen says. “And what for.”

Laurent has the remarkable ability of making every space seem his own. Even now, he sits on the floor in a relaxed pose, one knee bent, one long leg stretched before him. His profile is perfect, chiselled in white marble, only the soft fall of hair lending him some human frailty. He is still wearing the black jeans and long-sleeved sweater Damen remembers from the party.

Laurent’s gaze is fixed on the stars, a faraway expression on his face. He makes no attempt to help when Damen examines each and every corner of the cage for weaknesses or imperfection.

There is a door, oh yes. It’s heavy and covered with a sheen of what appears to be silver. Damen traces the fissures with his fingernails, examines the hinges: nothing. The doorknob is on the other side. 

The cage gives a metallic, clinking sound as he slams his entire body-weight against the door. And again, and again, until he can no longer tell the dull thuds and the clanging from the pounding of his own headache—

“Stop,” Laurent’s voice cuts through the noise: quiet. Impossible not to obey. “Please. You will hurt yourself.”

“I can’t stand here and watch you burn to death,” Damen says. Then pauses. “That myth it actually true, is it not?”

He had never seen Laurent out in the sun. Laurent claimed it was a skin condition, photosensitive porphyria or something. 

“Yes,” Laurent says. “It is. Although,” a humourless smile stretches his lips. “It ought to be brief.”

If he meant to cheer Damen up, he has failed spectacularly. Instead Damen redoubles his efforts, focusing on what’s beyond the cage. And sure enough, mounted right fucking there, is a camera. How thoughtful.

“What do they want?” he asks. When Laurent doesn’t answer, Damen pulls him roughly to his feet and shoves him against the glass. “You  _ know _ . Tell me.”

He doubts he could hurt Laurent even if he wanted to. There was always something about him, a self-assured air of confidence, bordering on arrogant disregard for his own safety. Laurent would pick a seemingly hopeless fight and somehow turn it to his advantage. Laurent, when he applies his mind, can do anything.

His eyes, perfectly blue, are frozen. His hands tremble, tremors running up his arms. Damen holds them steady, curling Laurent’s slender palms in his grip.

He lets him breathe. They breathe together, their foreheads touching. It is easier to believe they are safe like this, with scarcely any space between them. 

“They want to hurt me,” Laurent murmurs. “And they don’t care about collateral damage. Damen, I—I don’t think I can—“ He swallows, voice breaking. “I’ll help you. I’ll get you out of here—“

Damen shields him with his body, best as he can. Both from the camera and the sky – dark blue giving way to lighter hues, stars disappearing. 

He gives Laurent a moment to compose himself. 

“I’m bigger than you,” Damen says into the golden crown of Laurent’s head, to which Laurent gives an inelegant snort.

“Yes, I am aware.”

“No, I meant—you can hide behind me. I can—“ Damen takes a step back and unbuttons his shirt. It’s soaked with sweat from the club, and Laurent scrunches his nose a bit when Damen wraps it around his head. “There.”

Reaching blindly, Laurent tugs at the sleeves and then fixes the shirt, turning it into a proper headscarf with a few practised motions. Dark red isn’t really his colour, but he makes it work somehow. Laurent’s beauty always had a supernatural quality to it, and now Damen knows the reason why.

“It might take more than cotton,” Laurent says. “But I appreciate it.”

There’s a smirk stretching his lips to accompany the gently mocking tone of voice. This was the very same expression that made Damen want to punch him, the first time they met. Now he just wants to kiss him.

A vampire, then.

It suits him, in many ways. Although there’s a massive dissonance between the dangerous creature of the night he apparently is, and the mundane reality of  _ Laurent _ – who likes dogs, books, and wearing Damen’s oversized shirts to bed. But, Damen supposes, stranger things have happened.

It’s getting brighter. The glass cage sits atop a hill, just to give it better exposure.

“Come here,” Damen says, and then settles down with his back against the eastern wall. He is broad enough that he can easily cover all of Laurent. A fact that, until now, has been driving Laurent mad. It still is, if the careful, sullen way Laurent folds himself into Damen’s embrace is anything to go by.

“How long will they keep us here?” Damen asks. He knows the danger of operating on little to no information, and it’s not like they have anything else to do but talk. Even if they’re talking about Laurent’s impending death.

“Until I burn to ash, I presume.”

“And there’s nothing we can offer them to let you go?”

There’s a careful pause. “No.”

Damen sighs. “You’re lying to me.”

“Yes.”

He lets the silence stretch, unable to hide his disapproval. The grip he has on Laurent doesn’t loosen, but he cannot help the slight stiffening of his muscles. Still no answer is forthcoming; Laurent can be stubborn.

“Tell me more about the vampire thing,” Damen says, recognizing defeat.

“I was wondering when it would start bothering you,” Laurent says humourlessly. “But most of the myths are true, in one way or another. Sunlight kills me. Places of worship make me uncomfortable. I can’t walk into places uninvited. Garlic can be bothersome…”

“No, tell me about the special powers,” Damen says.

Laurent laughs softly into his chest, breath tickling Damen’s skin.

“But of course,” he says, voice fond. “Although the truth is, I don’t have any.”

“Really?” Damen asks. “You can’t read minds? Fly? Change into bats… Or, I don’t know, possess superhuman strength that allows you to smash thick glass walls?”

“That would be handy, wouldn’t it,” Laurent says. “Unfortunately, in the state I’m in, I am in fact considerably weaker than ordinary humans.”

“What state?” Damen asks - a foolish question, given the circumstances, but there is something incredibly soothing about Laurent’s calm, logical voice.

“I haven’t drunk blood in a long while.”

The flat statement hangs awkwardly between them. Damen stills, only now aware that he has been rubbing away the tension in Laurent’s back with his hands. 

He doesn’t quite know what to say. Eventually, Laurent breaks the silence with a gentle, “Vampire, remember?”

“So how do you normally… feed?”

Laurent leans back and their eyes meet. An enigmatic little smile tugs at his lips. “You are taking this very well,” he says. “I don’t kill people. In recent years the worst thing I’ve done was to attract weird looks for buying too much animal blood at the butcher’s. I try to vary between shops, but it’s not an ideal solution. Still, it beats robbing blood banks.”

“Oh.” A pause. “Have you ever…”

“Once or twice.”

“I am rethinking our relationship right now,” Damen says. 

“That’s not a problem, our future together is going to be brief anyway,” Laurent says.

Damen meant it as a joke and is not surprised to hear Laurent respond in kind. This doesn’t change the fact that the idea of Laurent robbing anyone is frighteningly easy to imagine. Or that whatever ethical issues he might have with this can wait for later. If there ever is a ‘later’.

“All right,” he says. “So you can survive on animal blood. That’s good to know.”

“Survive, yes,” Laurent says. Damen doesn’t respond, waiting for him to elaborate. “Human, animal. It doesn’t really matter. It’s the blood itself that’s important. I need it--” he swallows. “I need the blood…”

“We don’t have to talk about this,” Damen says gently.

“No,” Laurent says. “Talking helps.”

Somewhere behind them, Damen can feel the telltale warmth of first rays of sunlight. He used to enjoy this time of day more than anything, but during the past few weeks all his favourite times were spent with Laurent in the dead of the night.

Laurent tenses. His hands lay flat on Damen’s chest, and he is curled in on himself, so that no part of him remains exposed. Damen doesn’t expect him to keep talking, and yet he does.

“The blood is important,” he says. “But so are the circumstances in which we acquire it. Had I been using my vampire powers to hunt down people and feed on them, they would grow. Considerably.”

“To what extent?”

“I don’t actually know. The lore is inconsistent. I might have been able to smash these walls, I could survive the sun… Or perhaps not. And since I’m not going to do that, the point is moot.”

Damen sighs. 

The sun continues to rise, slow but inevitable. This cage, basically a greenhouse, heats up. Damen already feels like an overripe fruit. 

“Were you ever human?”

“Many years ago,” Laurent says. 

“So how old are you?” Damen asks. He braces himself for something outrageous - a hundred? A thousand? It would feel odd to find out that Laurent is much older than him, and he doesn’t quite know how to react.

Laurent, however, responds with a tired, “About twenty.”

He is losing his strength very quickly. Instead of commenting, Damen holds him closer.

Sweat is running down his back. The sky is a beautiful, cloudless blue. The shade of it reminds him of Laurent’s eyes.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m thirsty,” Laurent whispers. “Damen, I… I can hear your… heart…”

His hand is placed right over it, pale against Damen’s dark skin. Damen can see his slender fingers curl, fingernails digging into Damen--sharper than they have any right to be--are they  _ growing _ ?

“Laurent,” he says. “ _ Laurent! _ ”

Laurent’s head whips back. He is paler than ever, his face deathly-white, shot through with grey cracks. His eyes are glowing, fever-bright. His teeth end in sharp little points.

“Talk to me!”

It’s no use. Wherever Laurent’s mind is right now, it is not with Damen.

The feral look takes on a focused, frightening intensity, as blue eyes zero in on Damen’s neck. Quite helpless, Damen bares his throat and prays to whoever might listen that there is enough of Laurent to hear him when he says, “You can bite me.”

This is not how he usually uses that line, but it has the desired effect. For a brief moment, recognition flashes in Laurent’s eyes, but they are obscured again by that hungry look.

At first it feels like a kiss. Laurent’s warm lips are against his skin, like many times before. What’s missing is the sweet uncertainty he usually displays; now his desire is obvious, palpable even, in the ferocious way he mouths at Damen’s neck.

When teeth break skin, Damen jolts at the sudden pain of it. But soon a different sensation overwhelms him: weakness and confusion. With every long, thorough pull, strength leaves his limbs, and his thoughts turn sluggish.

Blue swims before his eyes. Blue, like the sky, and Laurent’s eyes. He doesn’t know what’s happening anymore, except for the weight of Laurent in his arms, pushing him down, mouth latched onto Damen’s neck.

It doesn’t even hurt anymore. He is numb; flat on the floor.

Above him, Laurent raises his head, glorious profile illuminated with direct sunlight. He is brilliant, gold hair like a halo around his head, skin gleaming; and the wide-eyed wonder in his eyes is the last image Damen remembers.


	2. Chapter 2

To his honest surprise, Damen wakes up.

He has had it with being rendered unconscious, frankly. At least this time, he is in a spacious bed. The room is nicely decorated, if a bit old-fashioned, and the view outside is of a peaceful late afternoon, somewhere out in the country.

As he sits up, black spots dance across his field of vision, and the world sways dangerously. But the sensation passes soon. Next time he gets up more carefully, letting his body adjust to the blood-loss.

There’s a well-stocked en-suite where he splashes cold water on his face and examines his reflection. His neck has been bandaged neatly, and he can’t see the wounds. The bandage is clean, pristine white; a good sign. Probably.

He leaves the room, shirtless, and wanders down the hall. Dread sits heavily in his stomach, but hope holds it at bay: whoever saved him might have been in time to save Laurent, too. They  _ must  _ have been.

It is a spacious mansion, richly decorated. The dominating motif is a sun on blue backdrop, or perhaps a bursting star. But other than portraits and picture frames on the walls, it is empty.

The first sign of a human life is inside a massive, well-kept study: a set table, with a meal for one person. Damen enters the room and heads to the chair by the window.

“Thank goodness,” a voice says. “I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t wake up.”

It’s a pleasant voice, belonging to a middle-aged man with dark hair. He sits in a chair and sips tea from a porcelain cup, a book across his lap.

“What happened?” Damen asks. “Where am I?”

“All in due time,” the man says. “I regret to say that you’ve been badly injured. Laurent hadn’t…”

“You know Laurent? Where is he?”

The man pauses and tilts his head. Damen sees it now, in his studious blue eyes: the familial resemblance. “Of course I know him. He is my nephew.”

_ Is _ . Not ‘was’. 

“Can I see him?”

“I don’t think that would be wise,” the man says. “You have seen first hand that Laurent has difficulties controlling his urges. Even more so now, that he has had a taste of your blood.”

“He’s never harmed me,” Damen says. “I want to see him.”

This man, Laurent’s uncle, shakes his head. His smile is pleasant, but apologetic.

“Paschal assures me that what Laurent needs right now is time to recover. He is still asleep, you see,” he gestures to the sky outside. “We can visit him after sunset.”

He is alive, and here; nothing else matters right now.

Damen’s legs, running on pure adrenaline up to this point, finally give in. He drops into an opposite chair and buries his face in his hands. 

“Sorry,” he says. “It’s been a rough day.”

“I can imagine.”

The first normal, casual,  _ human  _ thing that comes to mind at the moment is: “I didn’t know Laurent had an uncle.”

Laurent has never mentioned his family, save for one time, and one name: Auguste. His brother, whom he adored. But Damen assumed Auguste was dead, even if he hasn’t had the heart to ask. The haunted, shut-in look on Laurent’s face has said it all.

“You must understand him,” the man says gently. “He was barely thirteen when he was transformed. The years have been difficult for him. For his own good, and for the good of the populace, I had to keep him in check. A young, foolish vampire is a terribly dangerous thing… But Laurent refused to listen to reason. He had always been a stubborn child,” he smiles to his own memories. “Eventually, he managed to escape. I think he realized, after a few mishaps - I understand he robbed at least one blood bank - that I have been doing my best to protect him. But he was too proud to come back.”

The way he speaks of Laurent is rueful, but affectionate. Damen feels a surge of sympathy for the man.

“He was perfectly in control when I met him,” he says. “I didn’t even know what he was until he told me this morning.”

“And how did you two meet?”

“At a library,” Damen says. He has been doing research for his thesis. Laurent simply likes to read. And foolishly, shallowly, Damen took notice of his bright yellow hair and courted him with cups of vendor machine coffee until Laurent demanded to be treated to something better.

He has drunk the coffee. Maybe he just likes the taste.

“He always liked books more than people,” the man says. “I’m glad to see he made a friend.”

“Boyfriend,” Damen corrects automatically. It’s stronger than him, this urge to shout out his love to the world.

“Is that so? And to think…” the man shakes his head. “He almost killed you.”

“He didn’t. I don’t mind him drinking my blood.”

It is creepy, but only when he thinks too hard about this. And he’s sure they can work things out.

Silence falls. The sun is taking way too long to set.

“I’m sorry,” the man says. “I never actually asked for your name…?”

“It’s Damianos. Damen, that is.”

“Damen,” the uncle says. “My pleasure. I’m Laurent de Vere, incidentally - my brother named his younger son after me. But there are a few more things you should know before you commit yourself to this.”

Chief among them is the state Laurent is currently in, but Damen refrains from pointing it out. He aches to see him, but it would be odd to pour his heart out to a stranger, never mind his relation to Laurent.

“Paschal will be able to explain the medical consequences better,” Mr de Vere says. “He is the doctor who treated your wound. I’m a doctor, too, but I specialize in psychiatry. It’s been awhile since I had to deal with blood in a professional manner. However…”

He unpins the small, silver cuff and rolls the sleeve of his shirt up the left forearm. Once exposed to the sunlight, it becomes visible that his skin is covered in puncture marks, most of them faded into scars by now.

“I was prepared to do everything to keep Laurent alive and safe,” he says quietly. “I still am. He is my nephew. But I cannot change what he is. And neither can you.”


	3. Chapter 3

Losing that much blood makes him drowsy and tired, which is his explanation for drifting off to sleep as easily as he does. Even so, he is still almost conscious when he feels a tentative touch on his forearm - and then  _ teeth _ .

“What the hell?” Damen sits up on the couch. The book he has been reading tumbles down from his lap.

He catches a moving figure by their shoulder and is shocked to come face-to-face with a little boy of about eleven. The boy is staring at him with wide blue eyes, face small and pale.

“Were you trying to bite me?” Damen asks, incredulous.

“Yeah,” the boy says. 

“What for--wait. You’re a vampire?”

Sharp vampire fangs are considerably less scary on a child. Damen tries to mask his amusement, which earns him an angry scowl.

“I’m hungry,” the boy says.

“Well, I don’t care.”

“You let Laurent feed on you.” An accusation.

“Are  _ you _ Laurent?”

“No,” one arrogant head toss and a death glare later, Damen suppresses another laugh. “I’m Nicaise.”

“Exactly,” Damen says. “Then bugger off.”

Nicaise narrows his eyes and shoves him. He might as well be shoving a wall.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” he proclaims.

“Of course not,” Damen says, agreeable. He then stands up and stretches to his full height, strength coming back to his limbs. 

Nicaise takes a step back. He has to crane his head to look up at Damen properly, which doesn’t stop his attempts at intimidation.

“Aren’t you here as Laurent’s dinner?”

“No, I’m a guest.”

The sky is dark already, which means he slept longer than he intended. Strewn around him are the various books he could find on vampire lore. The library had many of them, ranging from ancient-looking handwritten tomes, to a box full of floppy disks, and all the way to CDs and external memory drives. Owners of this house, most probably the de Vere family, clearly specialized in the field.

Their crest is a sun, Damen remembers. They are probably not friendly to the vampires they find...

But, no. Laurent is a de Vere. Nicaise is here too, roaming freely. Maybe the family shifted their focus over the years.

“Where are you going?” Nicaise asks when Damen moves with sudden purpose.

“To see Laurent.”

“You can’t!”

It is true, for a very mundane reason: he doesn’t know where Laurent is. But then Nicaise adds: “No one is to see Laurent. He said so…”

“Who did? Mr de Vere?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not?” He wonders also how many people are in the mansion. Two humans and two vampires so far, including the mysterious Dr Paschal… And then there’s the one who actually dragged Damen’s unconscious body to that bedroom. Not an easy feat for two middle-aged men and a child.

He won’t find out unless he explores some more, so out he goes.

“He says it’s too dangerous,” Nicaise says, half-jogging to match Damen’s stride. 

Downstairs, to the basement. That would be where vampires sleep during the day, right?

“Laurent isn’t dangerous,” Damen says.

“And you’re really stupid,” Nicaise says. “You know what? I can’t wait to see Laurent kill you. It’s going to be so much fun--”

He skids to a halt. 

They are climbing down to ground level, where two voices can be heard in the spacious entrance room. Mr de Vere is having a conversation with a tired-looking elderly man. Damen doesn’t catch their words, but Nicaise’s petulant cry grabs their attention.

Mr de Vere looks up at them, brows knitting together when he spots Nicaise. His voice remains friendly and calm, but there’s a definitive edge to it. “Behave. Damen is our guest.”

“I don’t care,” Nicaise answers, but very quietly. He then turns on his heel and storms off.

Paschal - Damen assumes it’s him - watches him go with an odd expression. Then Damen’s suspicions are confirmed when Paschal comes closer and examines him with a critical expression.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. “Faint or dizzy? Short of breath, perhaps?”

“I’m fine,” Damen says, and then lets the old man take his pulse and shine a light into his eyes. He tries not to fidget when the man’s finger pulls gently at his lower eyelid, exposing the conjunctiva. 

“I’m going to have to measure your blood pressure and look at your wound. If you could sit down somewhere…”

“Later,” Damen says. “I have to see Laurent now.”

Paschal shakes his head, muttering, “Unbelievable…”

Nonetheless, he steps back, letting Damen come face to face with Mr de Vere. Damen braces himself for obstacles and arguments, but after a brief, contemplative look, the man simply says: “Follow me.”

As Damen suspected, they cross through another room and then head down the stairs. Temperature drops with every step of their descent, or perhaps it’s just the uneasy feeling that’s been creeping up on Damen. Nonetheless, it’s further down than he expected and clearly meant to be more than ordinary basement. 

The passage is brightly lit, and some of the excessive decorations from the upper floors found their way here. There’s doors on both sides of it. 

Mr de Vere stops in front of one them, and pauses.

“You should wear these,” he says eventually. From a cabinet set into the wall, he retrieves a wooden box. 

Once he opens it, Damen barks a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

“Nicaise was right on one account. You don’t understand the danger you’re in--”

“I understand it very well,” Damen says. “But I’m not wearing a goddamn  _ collar. _ ”

It is a thick band of smooth silver, with an accompanying set of wrist-cuffs. Damen considers it for a long moment, half-hoping for an explanation that must exist behind the joke.

“It’ll protect you,” Mr de Vere says.

“How so? I’ll have plenty of exposed skin left to bite,” Damen says.

“Vampires are very traditional. It’s in their nature.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Damen says. He refrains from pointing out that even on a good day, Laurent doesn’t give a damn about traditions. Or rules, for that matter. On a bad day, he exploits them freely. He is cold, ice-cold at times, and very pragmatic; but never cruel. 

“There’s something you don’t know about Laurent,” Mr de Vere says.

Of course there is. Laurent is layers upon layers of conflicting emotions, cool intellect, and the surprising warmth underneath it all. There are still so many things Damen can’t wait to learn about him. 

At the moment, only one springs to mind: “ _ Where is he? _ ” And, forcibly calm: “Sir?”

Mr de Vere sets the box down. From his pocket he draws a photograph and then, wordlessly, hands it over.

The resemblance is obvious. The man in the photograph shares some of Laurent’s features - the shape and colour of his eyes, the turn of his mouth. His smile is easy and open, hair a shade darker. Next to him, looking up with obvious adoration, is a boy. He is thirteen at most, sweet, innocent, a little shy - and it’s Laurent. Damen’s heart thuds painfully in his chest when he remembers how bitter adult Laurent can be in comparison.

“Why are you showing me this?” he asks. “Is this Auguste?”

“Yes,” Mr de Vere says. “This picture was taken a few months before Laurent’s transformation.”

Sure enough, Laurent’s skin is less pale, his eyes not so unnaturally bright. And another thing strikes Damen: the brothers are standing in direct sunlight, their blond hair gleaming with it.

“What happened to Auguste?” Damen asks.

He stares, hypnotized, as the answer takes shape in his mind even before the words reach his ears.

“He was there when Laurent was turned. The process takes time, and to the very last moment, Auguste believed he could stop it.”

Images blur - young, smiling Laurent. The dead look in his eyes the one time he mentioned Auguste’s name… 

“Vampires are at their most dangerous when they are young. They cannot control their thirst--”

His voice drifts off to silence. Damen keeps staring at the picture in his hand. His mind splits at the edges, unable to comprehend that this happened to Laurent. That this is something he has learned to live with...

“You see now,” Mr de Vere says. “He’s been through so much, and harming you might drive him over the edge. For his sake, as well as your own--” he hands the box over.

Damen, taking great care, takes out the collar and cuffs. And then puts them on.

***

It’s one last short corridor to cross before they find themselves in front of a large heavy door. Mr de Vere unlocks it and pushes it open.

Damen walks inside, eyes immediately drawn to the familiar blond hair. His heart soars with relief as soon as their eyes meet, because Laurent is right  _ here _ . 

He hasn’t even been aware of the weight in his chest. He feels light on his feet as he steps forward. It takes him a long moment before he even considers his surroundings.

The room doesn’t resemble a cell. There is a desk and a bookcase. A small doorway, probably leading to the bathroom. If not for the lack of windows, Damen would have believed it to be one of the upstairs’ bedrooms. 

And then there’s Laurent.

He lies supine on a cot, wide straps of leather holding down his legs and torso. A gag has been inserted in his mouth. His eyes widen at the side of Damen, and then snap to where Mr de Vere is standing.

“You’re alive,” Damen says stupidly.

Laurent rolls his eyes, corner of his mouth twitching.

Damen, overcome with fondness, closes the distance between them and runs his fingers over Laurent’s bound hand. He isn’t quite sure what to say to make the situation better, but the least he can do is offer physical contact. 

Laurent’s fingers curl around his, blue eyes closing briefly. Relief is plain in his face.  

“How long does he have to stay in here?” Damen asks.

Every second he spends looking at Laurent, he feels more and more uncomfortable. Nothing about the resigned expression or burn marks on pale skin suggests that Laurent is a dangerous creature that needs to be kept on a leash. He is willing to concede that Mr de Vere has more experience in the area - Damen is still trying to wrap his mind around the existence of vampires - but he begins to think that something is very, very wrong here.

“That depends,” Mr de Vere says. “We can’t determine the effect drinking your blood had on him.”

“Release him and we’ll find out.”

Laurent opens his eyes. For the first time, he focuses his gaze on the silver collar Damen is wearing.

“I don’t think that’s wise,” Mr de Vere says.

Laurent isn’t looking at him anymore. He isn’t looking at anything in particular, face devoid of emotion, as he gives a curt, mechanical shake of his head.

It’s at this point that Damen realizes that he fucked up.

**Author's Note:**

> ~to be continued~


End file.
